


Rules of Three

by DroughtofApathy



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Group Sex, Hate Sex, I wrote persephone/fates fanfiction, Inhuman Characteristics, Language of Flowers, Mildly Dubious Consent, Never saw that one coming did you, Overuse of three symbolism, Porn with Feelings, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, That's right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:25:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DroughtofApathy/pseuds/DroughtofApathy
Summary: Sometimes it felt like eons since that boy had clawed his way down to Hadestown, promising them all a song that could change the way the world could be. They’d all been so foolish to believe him. The workers, with their very last morsel of hope. Hades, with his desperation to keep her by his side. Her, Persephone, perhaps most of all.





	Rules of Three

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know how this happened. One minute I was seeing Hadestown for the third time, the next I was thinking what a fun time it would be to have the Fates and Persephone hatefuck. And the next thing I knew, I had 11k of hate sex with feelings.

Sometimes it felt like eons since that boy had clawed his way down to Hadestown, promising them all a song that could change the way the world could be. They’d all been so foolish to believe him. The workers, with their very last morsel of hope. Hades, with his desperation to keep her by his side. Her, Persephone, perhaps most of all.

The boy, Orpheus. He had not been the first with a pretty voice to remind her husband of the spark he once had for his wife. He had not been the last. Again and again. Circling around and around. Just like the seasons. Just like the planet. Persephone knew better than anyone how their love fluctuated. Like a pendulum swinging. A top spinning. What difference did the metaphor make when the results always came out the same?

And sure, perhaps that time had been better than most. That time Orpheus and his lyre had rekindled their love for longer than usual. It lasted a decade perhaps. More? Less? Persephone didn’t know. Time never did make any sense to a goddess. And for a spell, the world came back to life. The seas calmed, the storms ceased, the harvests grew plentiful once more.

But just as before, and just as it always would be, Hades and his greed, his ambition, his indomitable need for walls and mills and riches. It all took precedent over his wife.

But gods, for a moment, just one single solitary moment, Persephone had believed that _this_ time would be different. The boy and his song – _their_ song – the girl and her love, the workers and their soul-crushing hope. And when Hades had made life blossom down in Hadestown where the sun never shone and the air felt stale. She’d believed it then. Foolish. Such a foolish woman.

When she’d asked Hades if he thought they would make it, they both pretended not to know. But deep down, Persephone knew very well what would happen. She’d known from the very second she’d watched that ragtag bunch of heroes start up the path and caught a glimpse of _them_. _Them_ with their lanterns blinking and laughter curling around the procession like smoke. And what hope did a boy that soft, that foolish, that naïve, have against the Fates?

But that was long ago. Since then she and Hades had fallen in and out of love half a dozen times over. Maybe more. And every time he consumed himself with building that godsforsaken wall, she vowed that this time would be the last. This time she would finally realize that the girl in her mother’s garden and the boy singing that song had long since perished and, in their place, stood old and bitter shadows.

The earth had destroyed itself and forced its way back to life too many times for her to remember now. From floods, to dust, to raging fires. And with each passing year she spent longer down below. Not because the winters were longer. Not anymore. But because it hurt too much to see her beautiful planet in such a pitiful state. And who knew? Perhaps that had been Hades’ ultimate plan after all. To slowly and methodically turn the world asunder until the very sight of it curdled his wife’s stomach and forced her way down into Hadestown. 

Of course, Hadestown hardly could be considered any more uplifting than the chaos up on top, but at least the shades and the workers did not suffer like the humans up above.

The shades, the souls of the dead, the ones who came to Hadestown on Charon’s boat, not that horrid train. Persephone felt no pity for them. They came to Hadestown because all humans must die. There would be no avoiding the hammers and pickaxes forever. And as shades they were not alive. They could not feel, could not think, could not even look, much less see.

Not like the workers. Those poor fools who came by choice, believing Hades and the Fates’ temptations. Not their lies, for Persephone knew they only promised the starving humans they would never go hungry. Promised them sanctuary from poverty. And the workers could not starve if they did not require food. Needed not fear poverty when they knew no concept of wealth. Persephone scorned and pitied and wept for them. She knew, she’d witnessed it firsthand, that deep down, no matter what the Fates said, they were still alive somewhere. Their memories not replaced like Atropos insisted, but instead repressed somewhere deep down inside. Orpheus had once brought them back with a song. Now he was here somewhere. A shade of his former self who sang no longer.

She saw the girl now and then. Barely distinguishable from the others, she toiled hour after hour, coated in dust and grime. Sometimes, Persephone allowed herself to daydream about how it could have been had the girl been allowed to lead to boy out of hell. Would she have been strong enough? Would she had been determined enough? Or would the Fates have taunted and sneered and forced her to turn away from the sun and into the darkness once more?

They would have. Persephone knew it. No one ever did anything without the Fates willing it so. Not even a god. And especially not Persephone. No, she knew those three had been fascinated by her from the moment she’d been born. When she’d been another woman with another name and another life. Everywhere she ever went, the Fates made sure to follow. They may have looked like mere women, but Persephone knew the truth. Knew that they were snakes in the grass just waiting for the chance to strike. She loathed and feared them.

It was these hateful thoughts that consumed the goddess of spring as she made her way through the fields of shades and workers towards her small cottage far away from the crashing and pounding of the wall.

She and Hades were currently not speaking, to her utmost relief. And that meant she could spend as much time as she liked alone in her poor excuse of a garden.

No flowers could grow in Hadestown but still Persephone clung to whatever sad imitation she could. The blooms of the Underworld were breathtaking, yes, but so very cold and sharp. She had roses made of rubies and leaves of gold. Carved-diamond peonies and lilies, and stems of copper and silver wires.

Beautiful, deadly. But Persephone knew these priceless blooms would never compare to her beloved flowers up on top. She could never recreate the joy of sprinting gaily through a field of flowers with these ruby and emerald and diamond carvings. Not without tearing at her dress and shredding her legs to ribbons. But for over half of the year they were all she had. So, with every ounce of reverence and care she bestowed on the flowers above, Persephone tended to her garden of metallic-scented, razor-sharp blossoms with a heavy heart.

Strictly speaking, flowers made of gemstones needed no water nor soil to flourish. Not here in Hadestown. But with nothing else to occupy her time, Persephone gladly busied herself by tending to the dry and innutritious dirt and sprinkling the jeweled flowers with just a bit of water. Too much and the metallic stems would start to rust. She’d made that mistake lifetimes ago and had no desire to spend her winter tearing out the corroded plants and painstakingly putting new ones in.

By the time she’d finished the distant noises of the wall being built had settled down enough for Persephone to know it was the graveyard shift. Time passed differently here, and a goddess had no real need of a set sleep cycle, but Persephone enjoyed her rest. It meant a few less hours conscious in this hellhole.

As she stood, at last stretching her aching back, Persephone felt a bush catch at her snood and painfully tug it free. Her long hair, an abysmal mess of knots, tumbled free and she snatched at it to keep it from likely being sliced off by the sharp petals.

After spending an inordinate amount of time freeing her snood from the wiry branches, Persephone made her way inside, ignoring how she trailed dust and dirt behind her. A few shades hurried behind her, cleaning up the mess. Another translucent spirit helped her out of her soiled dress.

Persephone said nothing to them. They could not hear her either way and she misliked wasting precious breath on something that mattered so little. And, once she saw that they’d drawn her a bath without even being ordered to, she dismissed them back to the fields of Asphodel so she could at last spent a few blessed hours alone. Even in her pathetic little garden Hades could keep a watchful eye on her. But within her cottage, he had no dominion. A concession he had made so very long ago, and one Persephone adored more with each passing winter.

It filled her with a perverse sort of pleasure to know that the clotting scent of her milk-and-honey shampoo and rosewater bath scents gave Hades a mighty headache and with that in mind Persephone poured a generous amount into the steaming water.

Catching her snood on the flowers outside had reminded the queen she would have to tend to her hair sooner or later. In the years where Hades and she spent their time arguing rather than loving, Persephone neglected her long curls in favor of the more practical hairnet. After all, who would be around to see? Not Hades, certainly. And Hermes spent so much time these days escorting the dead down to Hadestown he hardly had a moment to spare for her. The shades couldn’t see, and the workers didn’t care. In fact, the only beings who would dare comment on Persephone’s less than perfect appearance were the Fates themselves. Yet another reason to sort herself out before they could use it against her.

As Persephone set about detangling her hair, she caught a glimpse of herself in the looking glass and quickly turned away in disgust. Time in Hadestown had never been kind to a goddess of spring. Her normally glowing skin grew pallid and grey, her cheeks hollow. She ate nothing during the long months in Hadestown and filled her stomach with solely imported whiskeys and wines.

Never had she understood how Hades could keep her here and reduce her beauty to this. This gaunt shade of her former self; curls limp, eyes dull. On impulse, she reached towards her breast for her flask only to remember her current state. How could anyone remain youthful and vibrant way down under?

Unbidden tears stung the corners of her eyes, and Persephone let her body sag back into the tub. She refused to cry over something so cyclical as this. In a few months’ time she could return to the world up above and begin the healing process of both earth and body. For now, she closed her eyes and drifted off, allowing the soothing floral aromas to lull her into a dreamless sleep.

 When the water closed over her head and her lungs began to burn, Persephone jerked awake. Panic flooded through her body as three strong pairs of arms held her down. She struggled and flailed gracelessly and water soaked the stone floor. Then, just as quickly as they’d come, the arms holding her under disappeared and the goddess rocketed to the surface, retching and coughing all the while.

A goddess could not be drowned, but that fact didn’t make her ordeal any less terrifying and painful. Persephone had to physically force her panicked breathing to return to normal. Though her ears still rung, she swore she could hear dark laughter curling in the air.

The Fates, she thought darkly as she carelessly pushed herself out of the no longer soothing bath. The thought of those _harpies_ , those absolute monsters, in her house – in her _bathroom_ – watching her bathe turned her stomach. A goddess had no room for human modesty, but to be naked and asleep was to be vulnerable. And her sisters had murdered men for less. Persephone only wished she could bring the same hell down on the Fates.

Her relaxing bath ruined; Persephone angrily stormed into her bedroom still dripping wet. Though she would have loved to rave that those witches had no right to torment her so, truthfully Persephone knew out of all the beings in this world the Fates had more right than anyone.

She didn’t understand it. Clotho should have been done with her after her birth, and Atropos should never have begun. She was an immortal goddess, for Hades’ sake. And to snip a god’s life thread was akin to attempting to sever a metal rod with a fingernail. Impossible. Or at least very nearly so. Nothing, Persephone knew, lasted forever. Not even the gods. Soon Atropos would come for them all. But it would not be tonight.

Perhaps it was for this reason, Persephone thought as she flung aside the stifling sheets, that the Fates saw fit to threaten her seemingly apropos of nothing. It surely must have frustrated and angered the tallest and darkest Fate that she could not take those deadly shears to her golden life thread.

What Persephone did understand was that her near-drowning came as a prelude for something bigger. And though she would have preferred to instead have enjoyed her bath and then enjoyed a dreamless sleep, it had been too long.

Let them come. Prideful as any other god, Persephone refused to make herself pretty for their arrival. They would receive her as she saw fit; barefaced and unkempt. The only indication that she’d planned for their arrival were the candles she scattered across the room. Better their soft flickering lighting than the blinding forges of Hadestown. And then she waited for the snakes to rear their heads.

She’d long since grown weary of waiting when at last she felt a light breeze and the Fates appeared as if out of the mist.

Rather than bare her teeth as she wished to do, Persephone instead feigned a casual apathy. In human form, the fates almost looked benign. Their pretty flowing grey dresses seemed deceptively whimsical. How could women with ruffled sleeves and swirling skirts be the malevolent forces of chaos Persephone knew them to be?

The Fates wasted little time with pleasantries. They circled the bed like vultures, their blinding-white teeth bared in three identically sinister smiles against dark lips. What few people – gods and men alike – knew was that the Fates used no stains or dyes to achieve such unnatural colors. And no amount of smudging, no matter what Persephone had tried, would mar their perfect shapes.

Without preamble, Clotho and Lachesis – one and two, Persephone thought snidely – fluidly launched themselves onto the bed and grasped the goddess of spring’s arms, pinning them to the plush bedding. Persephone hissed and bucked, but inside she felt a thrill of excitement run up her spine.

It would not be the first time the Fates had slithered into her bed, and it would not be the last. And Persephone had never been one to submit quietly. The Fates may have been more powerful and influential that she ever would be, but in their human forms even they had weaknesses. Little chinks in their armor even Persephone could exploit.

Out came her claws, her thin hands growing bony and birdlike. She went for the smallest, Lachesis, first. Though Hadestown had turned her listless and brittle, she had strength enough for this, and she managed to claw at the woman’s bodice, tearing it to shreds and baring a tanned breast. She curled her lip in jealousy. What right did this absolute _harpy_ of a woman have to flaunt her sun-kissed skin when the goddess of spring herself was forced into the shade until her skin grew downright ashen?

She pushed Lachesis away in anger and turned her fury towards Clotho. The long and slender woman raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in amusement at her little act of defiance. Her sharp nose haughtily turned away as she soothed Lachesis’ marred skin. Not that Persephone’s claws could ever truly leave a mark.

“Enough of that, now,” Atropos said, her voice sinfully deep. But Persephone knew she didn’t truly mean it. No, to watch a proud goddess struggle and strain only to inevitably give in to their ministrations was infinitely more satisfying.

“I’ll stop once you gorgons decide to show me something worth stopping for,” Persephone retorted, raising her sharp jawline defiantly.

“Gorgons?” Lachesis repeated disdainfully. But she and her sister Fates hissed simultaneously all the same.

“Do you think we hide snakes beneath these wraps?” Clotho teased, running her fingers down Persephone’s bare stomach. The goddess tensed, but remained in place as, once again in perfect sync, the three Fates unwrapped their heads and allowed their hair to tumble free.

Each of them possessed dark tresses. Persephone knew from countless past experiences that Lachesis’ ink-black hair felt the softest and silkiest to the touch, and Clotho’s wild mane of curls rivaled her own, though Persephone managed to retain her sun-streaked look even in this hellhole. But it was Atropos’s long thick braids that caught her attention.

At once, the tallest Fate spread her long body across the goddesses’s and held her in place. Her braids seemed to come to life, moving about as though they were the snakes of a gorgon’s head. Persephone’s breath hitched as the braids wound themselves playfully around her wrists.

“And here I thought you old dogs had no new tricks to show me,” Persephone said. With every moment she felt her need to goad the Fates into action grow tenfold. Oh, it had been much much too long.

“And yet you are the one on a metaphorical leash,” Clotho said.

“A bird in a cage,” Lachesis said.

“A mouse caught in a trap,” Atropos finished.

“I’m not the one wearing a dog collar,” Persephone said, but even she heard how stale all their insults sounded that night. She sighed, and suddenly the thought of a drawn-out battle for dominance sounded far too exhausting. Instead, the tired woman let her body relax, though she still held her head high, and said, “at least do not be so terribly cruel as to deny me the sight of your glorious forms.”

Atropos rolled her eyes at the sarcasm dripping from her tone, but with a flash of her eyes – Persephone could never quite manage to watch black iris’s flash red without looking away – her clothing and the clothing of her sister Fates turned to mist and dissolved away.

Seeing the Fates bare at last never did fail to thrill Persephone to no end. Though she detested these abhorrent creatures, she could not deny their beauty in this youthful human form. Atropos’s deep rich skin seemed to continue on forever. Unable to use her upper limbs, Persephone instead contended herself in running her own leg over the swell of Atropos’s hip, down sinewy thigh and muscular calf.

Slowly, one by one, Atropos’s braids uncoiled from Persephone’s wrists and the tall woman snaked down her body. And even in the stifling heat of Hadestown, Persephone shivered. When Clotho and Lachesis sidled up on either side of her and pressed their lips to her neck, she expected to be met with sharp gemstone flowers. Instead, what she got was soft petals. Tender kisses that she forced herself to steel against even as the two women roamed over her neck and chest. She could feel Lachesis lightly nipping at her collarbone, but her teeth remained blunted and harmless.

The last time Persephone had been worshiped with such gentleness… but no, she refused to think of this encounter as anything more than a means to an end. A brief interlude from the daily grind. Just a momentary lapse in judgment, though on whose part Persephone never knew. Not a rendezvous built on _love_ much less affection.

Three light breezes between her legs and across her breasts jarred her from her thoughts and brought a low groan of pleasure to the surface before she could smother it down. Rather than open her eyes to see three identical smirks at her apparent wantonness, Persephone merely inched her legs wider apart for Atropos to be able to lie comfortably.

Even all this time later, the Inflexible’s tongue still caught her off-guard. Longer and so much narrower than any human tongue, it could reach depths Persephone hadn’t thought possible. But to her frustration, Atropos instead used that snake-like tongue of hers to lick and caress at her inner thighs. Had she been a human lover, or even Hades, Persephone would not have hesitated to seize hold of Atropos’s braids and force her to the spot she craved, but after several millennium of this…whatever this was…the goddess knew better than to lay her hands on those braids. Instead, she buried both hands in two other heads of hair.

The feeling of Clotho suckling at one breast and Lachesis at the other managed to temper her craving for the time being, but soon Persephone knew she would be unable to stop herself from squirming and moaning. And what an indignity that would be if she gave in too soon.

“I see you need no warming up, my _queen_ ,” Atropos said, lifting her head and smirking. The way she said ‘queen’ in that mocking tone. It turned Persephone’s stomach and filled her with an irrational feeling of insecurity. How could it be that after all this time the goddess of spring and queen of Hadestown still sometimes felt like nothing more than that foolish girl in her mother’s garden she’d once been?

“Do not call me that,” Persephone hissed, squeezing Atropos’s head with her thighs in warning. “Not here when we are like this. You know I won’t tolerate-”

“Oh, don’t get upset,” Clotho said just as mockingly.

“Let us help you forget,” Lachesis said. And if possible, their incessant need to speak in triplets angered Persephone even more. In response, she dragged her nails down Clotho and Lachesis’s backs to cup their rears. Lachesis, she knew, enjoyed this far more than the others and she paid special attention to the Alloter. The petite Fate laughed musically and arched back into her touch.

Pleased, Atropos lowered her head and resumed her ministrations. And perhaps the Fates truly meant to torment her that night because each of them refused to deviate from their gentle caresses. Persephone could easily handle rough animalistic sex without batting an eye. She felt no shame in vocally enjoying herself. But to be treated as something precious, to be driven wild with tender kisses and falsely affectionate touches made everything so much more humiliating. No matter how much she secretly longed for these nights of worship, Persephone couldn’t bear it come morning. But just as before, and just as she would in the future, the goddess of spring uttered not a single complaint.

Gods, Atropos may have been a miserable old harpy, but she had a divine tongue. It wasn’t long before Persephone’s breath came in short quick gasps and her hips cantered about. She had not yet reached the point of outright moaning like some child of Aphrodite, but at this rate it wouldn’t be long.

Loathe to be the only one panting like a bitch in heat, Persephone stretched her arms and managed to worm her way between Clotho and Lachesis’s legs. She found them both wet and wanting and before long she felt their signature whimpers of delight against her neck; Lachesis’ deep sighs and Clotho’s laughter-filled moans.

But for all of Atropos’s skilled probing, she’d yet to come anywhere near the spot Persephone knew would push her over the edge into oblivion. Never once had the queen of Hadestown been reduced to begging, and she would sooner be subjected to one of Hera’s revenge plots than ever give the Fates that satisfaction. Really though, hadn’t they prolonged it enough?

As if reading her mind – and knowing how the Fates operated, they probably did – Atropos instantly picked up speed faster than Persephone could adjust to. Soon, gravely moans fell freely from her pink lips.

“Oh, f-” Persephone tipped over the edge with one last shameless cry of pleasure. Her body arched off the plush bedding and though the hand that had been working tirelessly between Lachesis’s legs faltered for just a moment, she had enough presence of mind to curl her other hand inside Clotho.

And just a few moments after Persephone’s own pleasure had started to wane, Clotho shook and bit down on her shoulder as she too came.

Persephone’s breasts heaved with the effort to pull herself together but Atropos continued relentlessly, hardly allowing her a moment to recover before she instantly flicked her serpentine tongue over the goddess’s clitoris.

“Ah!” She flung her head back and barely noticed when Clotho rolled over onto her back to recover herself. She did however notice how Lachesis began impatiently grinding her hips against her stilled hand.

“Don’t stop now,” Lachesis murmured in her ear.

“Fair is fair,” Clotho said, pressing up against Persephone’s body once more.

Had she not been doubly distracted, Persephone would have gladly told the Fates to shut it. As it was, instead she ensured at least one would quiet her incessant mocking.

To climax simultaneously was too much intimacy for Persephone to feel entirely comfortable with, and so she did her best to keep her own orgasm at bay until at last she heard Lachesis utter a breathy whimper and felt her body collapse limply. Atropos relentlessly carried on, and seconds later Persephone crested once more.

She trembled, beyond satisfied. Though she knew the Fates still had bigger plans for her, Persephone hoped she would be allowed a brief reprieve.

The air around her chilled slightly as Clotho and Lachesis gracefully rolled off the bed. Atropos slowly, ominously, crawled up the bed and over Persephone’s exhausted body and came to rest straddling her chest.

“You do look quite striking like this,” Atropos said, her deep voice barely more than a purr.

“That pretty flush,” Lachesis said, nipping at Persephone’s inner thigh.

“That dazed look,” Clotho said, running her fingers through her wild curly pubic hair.

Of course, Persephone thought turning her head aside. Of course, they’d had to ruin her afterglow with empty words and smirking lips. Atropos hushed her and began to stroke her unkempt hair. It hurt. To be treated so gently only to know the morning would come and it would all come to an end once more. Persephone swallowed back her bitterness and used what remaining strength she had to tug Atropos up and over her face.

Strong dark thighs pressed at either side of her head. That Atropos took the time to ensure she didn’t accidently catch her hair seemed too kind, too considerate. And Persephone knew well the Fates were neither. She grasped the Inflexible’s hips and unsheathed her claws just a tad in the hopes Atropos would stop treating her like some delicate flower. Not tonight. Not now when she’d been so starved of affection for so long.

“Careful,” Atropos warned, seizing Persephone’s bony wrist. She pressed Persephone’s arms down to the pillows and lowered herself down.

Clotho loved when Persephone curled her fingers just so. Lachesis adored being free to grind against her. But Atropos could remain aloof and in control no matter what the goddess did. And with One and Two working in tandem between her own legs, Persephone already had difficulty concentrating.

Fleetingly, as Persephone skillfully swirled her own inhuman tongue, she wished she could see Atropos’s face when she came undone. Not even a Fate of death, as it were, could be so stoic in the throes of passion. Perhaps one day Persephone would be able to turn the tables. But for now, she took what she could get and soon all four women were sprawled gracefully across the bed, sated and deliciously sore.

“Isn’t it time for you to go?” Persephone rasped, rolling onto her side. The Fates said nothing in response. They curled around her like cats, as though they were lovers clinging to their partner. More like snakes, Persephone thought savagely. The way Clotho stroked her hip, Lachesis pressed her lips to her forehead, and Atropos gently combed through her hair with her fingertips proved to be too much. Persephone hid her face in the crook of Lachesis’s neck and desperately tried to keep her tears at bay. She knew by morning it would all be just a distant memory.

And just as she knew they would, the Fates had vanished into the morning mists. Off to torment some poor mortal somewhere. And once again, Persephone was alone. Maybe one day she would be able to carry on without curling into a small ball and quietly sobbing. Maybe one day she could crawl out of bed without a deep pain in her chest. Not this time.

 

Seasons passed and Persephone saw head nor tail of the Fates. After a night filled of gentle lovemaking they always made themselves scarce. And for all that she enjoyed the illusion of being left alone, Persephone could sense their presence in everything she saw.

Up on top, she awoke one morning to find three massive cobras slowly coiling around her lower body. For a fleeting moment she thought it might have been the Fates themselves and for that reason she tempered down her panic. But the asps were merely beasts and they continued to coil tighter and tighter.

“Stop it,” she hissed at them. The snakes all turned their hooded heads towards her and one by one began slowly inching their way up her body towards her face. She dared not blink, but refused to scream or flail. Persephone had lived with Hades for long enough to recognize a test when presented to her. Whatever lingering fear she had melted away and she merely stroked the darkest snake’s long body until at last, just before they struck, the snakes dissolved into dust.

The next instance of the Fates’ presence came in the form of three mangled and bloody animal carcasses nailed to her front door down in Hadestown.

Persephone took one look at the pooling blood, recognized the mutilated bodies as having once been deer, and turned away. Behind her, the shades hastened to do away with the violent act left on her doorstep, but Persephone paid them no mind. She left bloody footprints behind, and the ground beneath her seemed to shiver. In Hadestown, for all the hardships and toil, bloodshed rarely occurred.

Though the shades had managed to clean away any evidence of wrongdoing in a matter of moments, Persephone did not return to her cottage for a long time. She chose instead to wander the fields and walk along the top of Hades’ wall.

What use could a wall this high be to anyone, Persephone wondered to herself as she gazed down and the ground below. So high was she that the workers below looked like little ants scurrying around.

So lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice three hand-like forms pressing against her back until her stomach lurched and she lost her balance. Her flask, glinting silver in the light of the forges, tumbled to the rocks below.

A scream died in the back of her throat as the very hands that had nearly sent her flying deigned to pull her back at the last possible moment. After that, Persephone stopped wandering near anything remotely dangerous.

When winter came once more, Persephone and Hades had managed to work their way back to at least speaking to one another once more. They spoke longer and more civilly in just a few moments than they had in the past several years. Maybe this time, Persephone mused, as she wandered through the castle halls and back out into the fields. Flask in hand, still even after all this time.

A worker passed by, unseeing and carrying a boulder on her shoulder, and Persephone started. Though she had been merely part of an old tale from way back when, the queen of Hadestown recognized the girl. Eurydice. The songbird. The young woman who had almost walked out of hell. None of that person remained anymore. Hadestown had seen to that.

The sight of the girl jarred Persephone from her oblivious reverie and she suddenly noticed the shade that followed after the girl, another boulder on his own shoulders. The boy. Orpheus. And it seemed so cruel to her that the lovers be reunited in Hadestown only to be further apart than ever before. To stay with each other forever, but to be strangers once more.

She had seen glimpses of them both over the many years, but never together. Never side-by-side. Could Hades have ordered this sadistic mockery as a way to taunt her? Persephone had wanted so much to believe they had begun the healing process once more, but perhaps not.

Unable to tear herself away from the pitiful sight, Persephone watched as the girl lowered her boulder to the ground and pulled out her hammer.

Ding. Ding. Ding. Three taps. And Persephone understood. Clenching her jaw, she turned away in disgust and stormed back inside. She did not wander the fields at all that winter, but it mattered little.

Persephone found three small bundles of three flowers waiting for her on her bed. Purple crocuses, pink camellias, and dahlias so dark they looked almost black. More than anything the flowers confused her to no end. Persephone knew every flower name and meaning on the earth. The crocuses meant youthful happiness which surely came from Clotho and though beautiful Persephone couldn’t help but feel insulted. She was neither youthful nor happy these days. And Atropos would have sooner drowned herself in the River Lethe than touch a pink bloom so the camellia that symbolized someone missing her must have come from Lachesis. The thought that the Fates would miss her for anything more than a goddess to torment seemed unbelievable. And the dahlia stood for grace, inner strength. Certainly characteristics of Atropos. But more befuddling than any of the others, it stood for love.

These signs, more than any of the others, frightened and confused Persephone more than she wanted to admit. The snakes had been a test, the animal carcasses a threat, the wall a taunt, the sight of Orpheus and Eurydice a tribulation. All had been entirely on brand for the chaotic Fates. But these flowers, which she knew had been chosen with purpose, followed none of the earlier malevolent incidents.

“What do you want from me?” Persephone asked pitifully. She hated how pathetic she sounded, as though she were begging the Fates to tell her. But she didn’t know how much longer she could stand this.

Not even the wind answered her query.

In anger and confusion, she flung the flowers into the nearest sparking fire and watched as the petals incinerated faster than they could fall. Flowers had no place in Hadestown. Not anymore. She would pay for the refusal of such a seemingly lovely gift, Persephone knew, but it hardly mattered to her any longer. Let them torment her to their shriveled hearts’ content. She knew they would regardless.

But the seasons passed. The floods came, and the fires blazed. The oceans rose and overflowed again and again. And still the only traces of the Fates came to Persephone in the forms of ill-received gifts. The flowers, now a near-constant presence in her life, mocked her. That even the Fate of death could make flowers keep in Hadestown while the goddess of spring herself could not cut her deeply.

Though Persephone would have sooner crawled into the bed of a hekatonkheires than admit it, she wished the Fates would end this charade and fuck her already. The waiting tormented her worse than the presence of those damned flowers.

Gradually, the dread and anticipation grew to anger. Just once, Persephone wanted to be with someone, three someones in this case, on her terms. Her whole life had been one instance of having her autonomy stripped from her after another. Her mother, her husband, the Fates themselves. Everyone and anyone, it seemed, could make decisions about her life for her without her consultation, and Persephone had spent too long without her own agency. Too long she had been forced to take what she could get and do what she could with such meager offerings.

And so, the goddess of spring bid her time. She would have the Fates on her terms, she decided. She would have _someone_ on her terms for once in her immortal life.

Never in all their centuries of sexual escapades had the Fates visited her anywhere but Hadestown. Above, as the sun shone brightly and the last remnants of the Earth’s greenery blossomed, Persephone felt her confidence grow.

She waited a small clearing in the last remaining great forest. Above ground, with the sun on her skin and a light breeze in her hair, Persephone felt powerful. She had ensured no one would disrupt her plans, and now all Persephone had to do was patiently wait. She’d waited for centuries for this moment. A few more days, weeks even, would be nothing.

At last she felt the trees shiver as three intruders crept along the dense woods. Persephone smiled, and resisted the urge to turn to the indignant screeches just outside the clearing. The Fates never could resist an opportunity to disrupt her peace. Why would this time have been any different?

Persephone knew she only had a limited amount of time before the Fates escaped the vines that ensnared them. But still she waited, taking great pleasure in being the one to dictate the terms for once.

Finally, the queen of Hadestown stood and slowly sauntered just beyond the trees to find her prize.

“When we are freed you will wish you could die,” Lachesis snarled as Persephone came to a stop just inches away from the captive Fates. She chuckled in amusement. Lachesis always had been the most overzealous of the three.

“Now, Persephone,” Clotho purred, leaning as far forward as the vines binding her limbs would allow. “You know how foolish this is. Let us go and we just may show mercy.”

“We know what you’ve planned, little goddess,” Atropos said, standing regally as ever even as the vines forced her legs apart and her arms back. “But you don’t have the courage.”

“I have spent half my life in a hellhole,” Persephone snarled. She flexed her hands and the vines tightened to her bidding. Clotho winced first, and glanced longingly towards her fallen spinner just out of reach. “I have suffered more than you three could ever even dream of. Do not ever presume to believe I am lacking in courage.”

She flicked a finger and a stray vine lifted a pair of golden sheers into her hand. Atropos maintained eye contact but Persephone saw her face tighten in anger. No one, not even the other Fates, had permission to touch what was hers. Sharp enough to cut through diamond with hardly a pause, the sheers would easily shred through fabric, Persephone knew. It didn’t stop her from testing just to be sure.

The sheers tore through Atropos’s dress like butter, baring her dark breasts to the abandoned forest. The Fate of death did not so much as flinch as Persephone tore her clothing to tatters before her very eyes.

“Enjoying the show?” She asked dryly, looking down at Persephone in distaste.

“Very much so,” Persephone answered, moving on to Lachesis and then Clotho.

She felt almost dizzy with power at having the three Fates, arguably the most powerful beings in the world, naked and bound before her. She’d never been able to see them in the light before, and even Persephone would not deny their beauty. Deciding to enjoy her victory thus far, she took a step back and just admired her handiwork.

“Worry not, my sisters,” Atropos said, raising her chin defiantly. “She cannot control all three of us at once. And when I am free, I shall gladly reap my vengeance.”

“I want her bound and gagged,” Lachesis said.

“I want to hear her beg for mercy,” Clotho added, haughty even in such a compromising position.

Persephone merely snapped her fingers and the vines forced the three Fates to their knees. Just as everyone else, they had underestimated her prowess.

“My darling Fates,” Persephone purred, winding one of Atropos’s braids around her finger. “I believe you’ll find I _can_ control you all at once.” And without further ado, she reached between Atropos’s spread legs and brushed against her engorged clit. She listened to the simultaneous gasps of shock and pleasure from Clotho and Lachesis with satisfaction.

“So that’s how you wish to play this game,” Atropos said, her voice remarkably steady for someone being pleasured. “Very well, little goddess. Do your worst and let us see if you can make a Fate beg for mercy.”

Which was all the permission Persephone needed. She brought both hands up to Atropos’s hair and arranged the braids away from her face. With such an opportunity before her, Persephone wanted to bear witness to every twitch and microexpression the Fate of death made.

She kissed Atropos softly and raked her nails down her back. To her right, Lachesis sighed shivering slightly. Clotho let out a soft purr, practically preening as invisible nails dragged across her skin.

Making up for all those lost opportunities, Persephone took her sweet time teasing and fondling all those parts Atropos had kept at arm’s reach. She caressed surprisingly soft breasts and tweaked dark pebbled nipples until her sister Fates were nearly incoherent with lust. But Atropos remained stubbornly stoic. The only indications that Persephone had any affect on her was the steely focus in her eyes and the tension in her body.

“It seems like One and Two are enjoying the fun,” Persephone whispered in Atropos’s ear, nibbling ever so slightly at the lobe. “Must you be so stubborn, my darling bringer of death? Why not give in and let yourself go? I know you must be enjoying this if what I’ve found between your thighs is any indication.” To demonstrate, she dragged a finger through Atropos’s wetness and smeared it across the Fate’s black lips.

Clotho whined, licking at her own lips. When Persephone glanced over, she saw the slender goddess’s glassy-eyed gaze locked onto Atropos. Lachesis strained at her bonds, not to escape, but to be closer. Persephone recognized the hunger in her eyes well. She wondered if Atropos ever allowed herself even the slightest vulnerability even among the other Fates.

Slow and methodical didn’t seem like the way to go, and with both Clotho and Lachesis practically shaking with need, Persephone took pity on her captive audience and curled her long fingers just so into Atropos’s pussy. The Fate’s walls tightened around her, adjusting to the intrusion.

“Oh, yes,” Clotho sighed letting her head fall back. Her long curls flowed down her back save for the few wisps that remained plastered to the back of her neck. Oh, how Persephone adored how flushed she and Lachesis got in the throes of pleasure.

Using her other hand to stimulate Atropos’s clit, Persephone continued to thrust in and out, picking up speed with every second. And though the sight of both One and Two squirming and trying to grind on thin air was rewarding in its own special way, Persephone kept her gaze locked on Atropos’s face.

The Inflexible remained as still as Medusa’s statues even as Persephone felt the first orgasm against her fingers. Unburdened by potential wrist cramps, the goddess relentlessly kept up her ministrations, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of the three Fates until Clotho and Lachesis had practically screamed themselves hoarse and were reduced to incoherent pleas.

“Let’s see how much more they can take, shall we?” Persephone smiled, baring too many teeth, and swiftly corkscrewed her fingers, eliciting another shriek from Clotho and a moan from Lachesis.

She could see the sweat dripping across Atropos’s brow, the light sheen over the rest of her body. And she could feel the river between her thighs.

“No more, please,” Clotho whined pitifully, barely able to remain upright.

“Gods, no mo- oh, yes!” Lachesis slumped against the vines, visibly trembling as pleasure overtook her for the umpteenth time.

“Nothing to say, Atropos?” Persephone asked. “No snappy retort?”

“Who are – hmm,” Atropos cut herself off abruptly as Persephone twisted at her engorged clit. At last, the Fate of death shuddered, closed her eyes, and gave in. And each subsequent orgasm Persephone wrung from her body broke down her barriers more and more, until she was fighting to suppress her quiet gasps and stop her hips from grinding down onto Persephone’s hand.

Atropos met Persephone’s determined gaze and knew the goddess had no intention of letting up until she was satisfied.

“Atropos, please- I- I can’t-” Clotho’s plea dissolved into a drawn-out moan once more.

And with that, Persephone felt the last of the proud Fate’s resistance drain away. Atropos screamed and gave in to her pleasure fully. Her eyes rolled back so far Persephone could only see the whites and she slumped into the spring goddess’s embrace.

“Please,” she whispered in a breathless voice. “Mercy.” And with one last gentle kiss to her forehead, Persephone withdrew. She felt rather than heard the silent moan of relief and disappointment all rolled in one, and reaching for the discarded sheers, Persephone sliced the vines that held Atropos back.

The Fate’s body bonelessly crumpled, and it was only through Persephone’s own strength that she didn’t painfully collapse onto the grass.

Tenderly, Persephone lowered her down. She brushed her Atropos’s braids out of her face and wiped away the grass from her lower legs. Then, with a fond smile she would deny ever making, she did the same to Clotho and Lachesis until all three Fates lay curled up together, exhausted and sated.

“Sleep well, my darling Fates,” Persephone murmured, drawing a blanket over their cooling bodies. She placed an enchantment around them so any unsuspecting mortal wouldn’t accidently stumble upon the fearsome Fates in such a vulnerable position and suffer the consequences.

And with one final satisfied look, Persephone turned away and walked out of the forest. And she didn’t see hide nor hair of the Fates for many, many years.

 

Somehow, Persephone had never thought it would come to this. The world had ended and come back to life half a dozen times since that surreal summer’s evening in the forest, and each time the gods’ hold on the universe weakened.

The gods were dying, of that much Persephone knew. It had taken millenniums, but slowly and surely Atropos’s sheers had made their way through their golden life threads until they only just clung to life. For what ends, she knew not.

The gods were dying as the last of humanity relinquished any belief they had in them. They had been dying for centuries now, as the humans turned their domains into dust and ashes. Reduced to common mortals, the gods were forced to walk the new earth, unable to die and unable to truly live.

Persephone could feel each of them distantly. Knew their fates keenly. Knew how some adjusted better than others, and knew their despair.

No longer king of the gods, Zeus drowned himself in women and wine. He staggered home each night, yelling insults and catcalls at wary women who armed themselves with weapons and locked their doors at night. He was just another man who has ever, and will ever, make women feel threatened in the night.

Hera had long since abandoned her marriage and thrown herself into a new job. No longer a goddess of anything, she tried desperately to council fraying couples at the end of the world. She knew she could never hope to save them all when her own marriage had gone up in flames from the start. But she did what she could to rescue abused men and women from violent homes, and went to the end of the earth and back to protect as many children as she could from ever fearing their own sires. She had found new subjects to love and protect even as every loss felt like a dagger to her soul.

Persephone’s own mother Demeter no longer had the power to plunge the world into a destitute winter. She could only stand helplessly by as greedy oil tycoons and ignorant mortals wreaked more havoc on her beloved earth than she ever could. And with every apocalypse she survived, Demeter’s desperation for the blissful ignorance death brought grew. Though never lacking in will, she knew she had no need to curse humanity when they had done it themselves.

The salt of the oceans mixed perfectly with Poseidon’s tears. His once-majestic kingdom had become a pestilence as the oil spilled and the garbage strangled any poor unfortunate soul left alive. The coral reefs had withered and died, plunging the shorelines into chaos. He did everything he could to nurse distraught animals who washed up on beaches back to health, but even he knew nothing would ever thrive in his kingdom again. The waters, once a clear-blue haven, now burned like fire to the touch.

Disgusted with war and bloodshed, Persephone’s sisters, Athena and Artemis, did what they could to save the last remnants of the earth. Persephone knew they had been there for every march, every demonstration, every protest for hundreds of years. They had thrown bricks at Stonewall and gave hunger strikers the strength they needed to live another day. They did everything they could to protect the women their father frightened. She envied them so. With their father’s favor and the freedom to fight, Athena and Artemis had the souls of warriors and saviors. Not her. Not Persephone who only knew how to survive.

Ares, even ruthless bloodthirsty Ares, turned his back in disgust at the horrors of the world and the wars all fought with so little honor. He saw only cowardice in smoldering battlefields, and shrapnel-blasted hospitals. He had long since stopped recognizing a war filled with gunfire and weapons so destructive they had no place in this world. His own lover had abandoned his side to fight her own wars.

But Apollo and Hephaestus remained nearby. Persephone knew the sick begged for their help, even if they no longer recognized their name. The god of the forge’s domain had long since become obsolete as nuclear warfare took its place. They did what they could for the sick and wounded, watching as countless children bled out before their eyes.

The goddess of love and beauty. Aphrodite laughed bitterly every time she heard jokes of this long-forgotten figure. It hit like a slap in the face. As her sisters took to the streets to fight off drunken men, she remained inside. She watched over unattended drinks and gently escorted drugged women to their homes. She mourned the loss of the millions she could not save. And when a man dared target a poor girl on her watch, she raged, raged, raged. Even a former goddess of love and beauty was not a hapless princess. She could be a goddess and warrior no longer, but she could be the heart of a man’s nightmares.

And as Aphrodite watched drinks with an eagle eye, Dionysus shied away in disgust. It had been centuries since he’d touched even one drop. Persephone, who had spent years drowning herself in spirits and wine, knew intimately the consequences. They had both seen that cursed liquid tear families apart. Dionysus saw children watch as their parents became strangers. Became people who would yell and hit and cry. He saw youth turn to the bottle themselves and let it kill them. He could do nothing but watch as they all perished.

And Hermes, dear Hermes. Persephone never saw him again. Never shared a drink and a dance with him one last time. Too many humans perished every day for him to ever escort them all down to this new afterlife. Sometimes Persephone heard an old melody in her head, and knew it was Hermes telling a story from long ago. A sad song. A tragedy. One that never did have that happy ending, no matter how much they all craved it.

And the others. The gods like Persephone herself who were never worshiped as Olympians. They too had been dying. For longer than most. Hestia watched as her fires consumed the earth, raging and blinding. She could do nothing but watch. Morpheus, though a god of dreams no longer, wished desperately for humanity to wake up. He could hear their scream-filled nightmares even now.

But through all this, though Persephone knew the gods would have to perish one day, she never believed she would be one of them. Not when Hadestown served as a place for the dead. A place with no shortage of souls to house. Not when Hades’ domain would never be destroyed as Poseidon’s. But even the king and queen of Hadestown had long since been banished to the mortal realm to walk among them, never quite dying, but not thriving either.

In the beginning, when the final straw had broken and Hades and Persephone were cast out into the new world, she had allowed herself to become lost. No longer did Hades have any claim or hold on her. With no underworld to spend half the year trapped in, she embraced this new way of living.

She’d long since given up the art of drowning herself in wine. As an immortal human, essentially, she could no longer drink with abandon and not feel the consequences. And her human body was tinier than most, and more susceptible to alcohol’s chilling effects. Instead, she busied herself with other newfound pleasures.

After the novelty of freedom wore off, she went in search of her husband solely to put to rest any last lingering curiosity and found him exactly where he belonged. Though Hadestown was but a distant memory, Hades had become another factory foreman, and grown rich and powerful just as before. Even as the world descended into madness once more, he had found his calling. Not even the loss of his kingdom and his precious wall could stop his ambition and greed.

She turned away and did not look back. With the last shred of her love for Hades burning up in some fire, Persephone traveled halfway across this new world. She had no ambition, no burning need to save. Not anymore.

The former goddess of spring set herself up in a little flat far away from Hades’ factory and her mother’s pit of despair. Though her beloved earth had crumbled time and time again, she welcomed this new life of freedom and simplicity.

Her first real job was at this new world’s idea of a fruit orchard, tending to fruits that should never have existed naturally. She didn’t care. It mattered little to her the science behind these human-made foods. Not when she could pretend she was back in her garden, with the sun on her shoulders and the wind in her hair. And if she tried hard enough, she could make believe there was no great glass dome encasing the orchard, and the gentle humming of machines were just busy bees zipping around to pollinate the plants.

But even with all their anti-aging technologies, the humans grew suspicious of a woman who seemed to never grow older. One who hardly looked as though she had the funding to afford such treatments. And so, before any harm could befall her, Persephone left.

She traveled across the world, moving every few decades to keep her precarious immortality a secret. She found work in farms and apothecaries and little bakeries. Anything that could trick her into believing she’d never left her garden all those eons ago, if only for a little while.

And then one day she stumbled upon a little flower shop. A shop that sold blooms no more real, it seemed, than those flowers of rubies and emeralds and diamonds. These flowers had been bred and modified to be as beautiful as they could be, needing as little care as a rose made of diamond. Though the petals remained as soft and silky as they should be, and though they smelled so very fragrant, Persephone knew the truth of the matter. No one who worked in that shop, nor anyone who crossed its doors had ever seen a true flower.

Still, it called to her, and she put in her application that very day. Soon enough she had work enough to occupy her time and pay enough credits for her little flat on the outskirts of the city. She spent her time delicately arranging magnificent bouquets and weaving flower crowns with more expertise than anyone around. After all, she had had millenniums of practice.

And there she stayed, until one day, as she sat at her desk, carefully weaving jewels through a halo of red and white flowers, she heard the front bell ding.

Persephone froze as it rang again and again. She’d stopped receiving signs of three after that fateful summer encounter, but this was enough to make her blood run cold. Next to her, a co-worker, Elena, wandered out into the store to tend to the customer, but she sat rigid until at last she heard the door snick shut.

“What did they want?” She asked casually, coming out from the back room, newly made flower crown resting daintily atop her curls.

“It was the strangest thing,” Elena said, shaking her head. “They wanted some flowers I’ve never heard of. It must just be something in another language or maybe they’re just really rare.”

“What were they?” Persephone asked, trying not to show her alarm.

“I don’t know, um, Camilla or something? One of them wanted a flower called a delia, I think,” Elena responded, absently fixing up a wayward bouquet. “Something really dark. She didn’t want the Rorcalle I showed her.

“Dahlia,” Persephone whispered to herself. Elena nodded, already having lost interest in the conversation.

They’d found her. The Fates had found her after all this time. Persephone tried not to panic. She knew, was sure, the Fates were just as weakened as the rest of them. Not even they could thrive after all that had happened. The simplest solution would be to abandon this city and start anew. She’d done it so many times now it would hardly be a disruption.

But Persephone had come to enjoy her little flower shop with its genetically modified blooms. The thought of running because of them turned her stomach. And what could they do anymore? They had no power here.

No, Persephone would stay, she thought firmly. And resolving to think no more on the subject, she returned to her work. Those crowns wouldn’t braid themselves, after all.

But when she arrived back at her flat, the sight of a vase filled with colorful flowers stopped her dead in her tracks. She recognized them all as old Earth blossoms. Gladiolus, plumeria, black rose: remembrance, springtime, death.

Persephone didn’t have the heart to fling them away. Not the last remaining existences of the old world. She carefully brought the vase into her home, and set them on the table. No use wasting perfectly lovely flowers, after all. Even if it did signify the Fates knew where she lived. She would not be terrorized away again.

Three months passed without another word. Miraculously, the flowers remained just as vibrant as they’d been the day Persephone brought them inside. She diligently changed their water every few days, and occasionally just sat and admired them. But the Fates seemed content to remain hidden.

Until at last, exactly three months to the day, Persephone came home to find three more vases of flowers. One contained daffodils, new beginnings. Another held eglantine roses, a wound to heal. The last was hydrangea, frigidness, but also gratitude in understanding. And once more, Persephone brought them inside and found places for each of them.

Exactly three weeks after that, she found another three vases: iris, narcissus, and a single red lotus floating in a small bowl. She knew them all to be symbols of the past she’d done her best to forget. An iris in homage to the goddess of rainbows, narcissus to remind her of that vain foolish boy who came to Hadestown of his own ego, and a lotus to represent the people of a long-forgotten land of drug-induced apathy.

She wept at these harsh reminders, but brought them inside all the same. How long would it be, she wondered, before these plants overtook her home? How long would it be before she refused?

Another three days passed, and this time she arrived home to three identical bouquets of red carnations, one bunch ever so slightly darker than the others. Distantly, she knew somewhere Hermes had started up his story once more. Had begun the old song of love from long ago. And as she took the flowers inside, Persephone sang it with him. She wondered what had happened to Orpheus and Eurydice after the kingdom fell? No longer compelled to an eternity of forced labor, they must surely have gone somewhere. She hoped desperately they were together at last. That maybe at least they could find peace.

On the third day of waiting, Persephone began seeing signs of three everywhere she went once more. Three bell rings at work, three people waiting ahead of her at the store, three knocks on a door.

And this time, when Persephone returned home, she did not see any flowers left at her door. Instead, she saw the open door itself. She thought to run once more. Thought to turn tail and run so far the Fates would never find her. But another part of herself beckoned her forward. She had missed them desperately.

Inside, she found hundreds of petals scattered across her front room. Crocuses, camellias, dahlias. And sitting on the couch were three women. Women who, if Persephone didn’t know any better, looked almost nervous.

“What makes you think you are welcome here?” She asked, her mouth dry. The Fates turned, moving as one as they always had, and Persephone forgot to breathe. They looked so different these days. Their lips were no longer naturally a dark red hue, if the slight shine and subtle smudges of the various shades of red gloss had anything to say about it. Clotho had cut her hair shorter and it now shone a delightful lavender. Lachesis had plaited hers back and tied it off with a bit of pink ribbon. And Atropos’s braids were now streaked with whites among the darkness. She’d kept her nose ring, to Persephone’s delight.

They looked so…so real. So human. Gone were those ethereal dresses and headwraps and instead were modern clothing that should have looked out of place. And yet, the Fates always could make anything look like the height of fashion.

“Answer me,” Persephone demanded when she received no reply. “Why have you followed me here? Broken into my home? Decided you would torment me once more? The gods are done. Just please leave me to live my life in peace.”

“You accepted our gifts,” said Clotho.

“Kept them after all this time,” said Lachesis.

“We apologize,” said Atropos. And that caused whatever fight Persephone had in her to evaporate. She sank into a chair opposite the cramped little couch and waited for a further explanation. “We apologize for making you believe that this has all been a way to torment you. It was not our intention.”

“Then please enlighten me,” Persephone said warily. “What was your intention? Because most humans I know wouldn’t take breaking and entering as a sign of good faith. What business do you have with me after all this time?”

“Your love,” Clotho said, presenting her with a red rose, trembling slightly in exhaustion.

“In return for our own devotion,” Lachesis said, conjuring up another. The action made the woman pale faintly with the effort. Persephone took both roses, mindful of the thorns, and turned to Atropos, waiting.

“And a promise. An oath on the River Styx that we will do everything to right the wrongs we have done you,” Atropos finished. She opened her hand and a dark red rose sprung open. The effort caused her to sway slightly, and Lachesis reached out to steady her.

Persephone took the final rose and turned it over in her hand. She never thought it would end up like this.

“I am tired,” she declared, looking at each of them in turn. “Tired of senseless games, and riddles. I’m tired of being haunted by threes everywhere I turn. I’m tired. And I don’t want your oaths and grand gestures.” One by one, the Fates averted their eyes, a resigned regret in their faces.

“But,” she said, causing them to look up once more. “I need you to realize that we aren’t gods anymore. We’re just women. And as much as I love these flowers from the old world, they mean little to me. Not as much as seeing how much effort and pain you’ve probably had to go through to bring them to life. That gesture alone means more than words and flower meanings. Though I don’t want any of you going through such trials to do so again, I want you to know I appreciate the action more so than the gift. That is what love should be about. Not gifts and words. At least not only those things. But actions to prove it. I don’t need flowers. I have an entire shop. I don’t want jewels. I’ve had those for years and they nearly drowned me. All I need is a simple promise. Not on a forgotten river. There’s no use talking of the past. It’s passed.”

“Then what- what can we promise you to make you believe we care for you?” Atropos asked, tentatively reaching for Persephone’s hand. That uncertainty, that almost bashful hesitation. It seemed so unlike her darling Fate of death that Persephone met her halfway.

“Can you promise me you’ll provide for yourselves and allow me my freedom to do as I please?”

“I do,” said Clotho.

“I do,” said Lachesis.

“I do,” said Atropos.

“And can you promise me that I’ll wake up in the morning and you’ll still be there?” Persephone asked, her voice shaking slightly. “All I’d ever wanted all those years was to just wake up to someone holding me, and you never gave me even that. Can you promise me you won’t run when the sun rises? That you’ll be there in the morning and every morning?”

“We will,” said Clotho.

“We will,” said Lachesis.

“We will,” said Atropos.

“Alright then,” Persephone said, wiping away a stray tear before they could multiply. “I suppose that’s that then. Come. Let’s find these roses a vase and you can all tell me just how you managed to find me.”

Atropos stood, and there were tears in her eyes. She embraced the former goddess of spring, and Persephone felt her body trembling. One by one, the other two joined in. And just like that, Persephone knew she never wanted to be anywhere else. Knew that everywhere she would ever go, she hoped the Fates would follow close behind. Any way the wind blew.


End file.
